


Broadcast Fidelity

by inbox



Series: GUNISHER [2]
Category: Cable (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, Telepathic Sex, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 02:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: As a rule Frank isn't accustomed to mixing business and pleasure. He shows up, he sends scumbags and shitkickers to a hotter place, he splits before the cops show up and he has to watch them strain their brains through an ethical dilemma over cuffing him. He doesn't linger afterwards. No point to it.Hanging around above three stories of wasted geeks, even if it's on the flat roof of a nondescript rural warehouse on a nice summer night, is absolutely not his style. Getting his dick sucked above the savagery that he's just enacted is so out of his scope of experience it almost - almost - makes him feel like a fumbling virgin.





	Broadcast Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenkoWakimarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/gifts).



“This is a shit idea,” he says. He's not even sure if the sun-weathered chair up in this grim rooftop alcove is gonna hold his weight, let alone Cable’s added weight as he leans on Frank’s knee and gives him a meaningful look. He smooths his big metal hand up Frank’s thigh, up his inseam, thumbs around the immovable barrier of his cup and says, bored, to hurry up and get his dick out.

If it wasn't for the blood spattered over Cable’s chest and the frankly astonishing futuristic weapon leaning against the brick wall, wedged over his own beat to shit soft rifle case, this would be no different to any time Cable has given him a look and pressed against his brain and got Frank hard and desperate.

As a rule Frank isn't accustomed to mixing business and pleasure. He shows up, he sends scumbags and shitkickers to a hotter place, he splits before the cops show up and he has to watch them strain their brains through an ethical dilemma over cuffing him. He doesn't linger afterwards. No point to it.  

Hanging around above three stories of wasted geeks, even if it's on the flat roof of a nondescript rural warehouse on a nice summer night, is absolutely not his style. Getting his dick sucked above the savagery that he's just enacted is so out of his scope of experience it almost - _almost_ \- makes him feel like a fumbling virgin.

_There's no one around for miles._

“Don't care,” he says gruffly. The release on his tac belt always gives him trouble, especially with his gloves on. “This’s morbid.”

Cable laughs at him. “Says the man with the skulls.” He bats Frank’s clumsy hands out of the way and deals with the buckle himself, popping it free and parting his belt. He kneads at the inside of Frank’s thighs, digging in with his knuckles and massaging hard into his tendons until Frank is shifting on the plastic folding chair, antsy and nervous.

Cable loves doing this to him. He takes Frank by the hand to the crumbling edge of the ledge, so to speak, then leaves him there to sweat it out himself to make the actual call. If he wants Cable to put that smart mouth to work then he's gonna have to ask for it.

“C’mon.” He undoes his fly and eases down the zip on his fatigues, and gives an arch look at Cable kneeling between his thighs. “This is your show.”

 _You're just the passenger_ , finished Cable. He pulls out Frank's cup and feels him up, making an appreciative noise at the way Frank’s cock sits fat and heavy in his palm. He's not erect yet but he's on the way, practically conditioned to get hard and dripping whenever Cable gives him a certain look, a certain touch.

Whenever Cable does anything, if he's gonna be truthful with himself.  

“What about this does it for you?” The pissiness in Frank's tone doesn't fully sound convincing, not when he's gently petting the stubble on Cable's cheek, zoning out as Cable looks up through his lashes and makes out with his dick. He kisses his foreskin and tongues his slit, sucks him all the way to the root and lets him slide back out through the tight seal of his lips again and again until he's rock hard.

Cable sucks dick like it's his full-time job. He sucks dick like Frank should pay him to make it his full-time job.

_I like sucking you off._

“You can do that anywhere,” he says, more reasonably than he truly thinks is, well, reasonable. “When we’re washed up.”

Cable laughs around his dick, an ugly gurgling snort that turns into a rumbling vibration that rips through Frank’s guts and makes his toes curl. If he wasn't already hard that sensation would've sealed the deal in triplicate. _Speak for yourself, Frank. I've got years left in me._

“You know what I mean,” he says. “Smartass.”

Cable pulls off him with a pop. “Castle. I just watched you cut down a dozen men without getting a fleck of blood on you. It was a master show. Why wouldn't I find that appealing?”

“Besides,” he adds, his thumbs digging harder and harder into the pressure points at Frank’s knees. “Don't tell me you don't get excited by my big massive--”

“Shut up.”

“--huge, powerful gun.” He waggles his eyebrows and Frank can't even look at him, the big idiot. He tilts his head back and lets the stars see the stupid look he knows he's got painted all over his face. Cable can pick through his head as much as he likes, but some things are still his to disclose when - and if - he feels like it. Getting discovered giving his colleague and fuckbuddy soft sappy looks over something as stupid as grade school level gun entendres is a one way ticket to losing his meal ticket and his…

his…

…his whatever this is.

“Jesus.” He blindly reaches forward and gentle presses down on Cable’s head, a pointed hint to get back to blowing him.

“You love it,” says Cable.

“You got me,” he says, and pinches Cable’s ear. The soft skin of his earlobe is threaded through with what feels like metal wire, fine and delicate and invisible to the eye. He rubs it between his fingers and forces himself to undertake the herculean effort of looking down at Cable with a questioning look.

Cable shakes his head a little, just enough to dislodge Frank’s exploring hand. “Another time.”

“Wasn't going to--”

“Another time.” He licks his lips and takes Frank to the base in one deep swallow, nose pressed to the thick bush of dark hair that covers Frank's gut. It's an effective end to the conversation ‘cause suddenly all he can focus on is not driving his hips deep into the exquisite wet heat smothering him, feral animal instinct warring against polite consideration.

“Hell,” he whispers, gripping the squeaky plastic sides of his chair as Cable sucks him off deep and fast, his mouth wet and noisy in the still summer night.

He risks unclenching his hand and gently slides his fingers ‘round Cable’s jaw, up the thick metal bands cording his neck, into the soft hair at the base of his skull. He stares at him and tries not to think too loudly about how god damn pretty Cable is between Frank’s knees.

He's so big and broad, wedged in as tight as Frank will allow. His arm gleams metallic under the dim night light, topography of muscles shifting under the dim light in an ever-changing ripple. When Cable closes his eyes the thin skin of his eyelid glows a deep luminous orange, like when Frank puts his thumb over a pen torch and his skin lets the light leak through just a bit. It should be unsettling. It should be the thing that really reminds Frank that Cable’s no ordinary fuck, the impossible to ignore sign that should keep him on edge and not let his guard down, but…

But, but.

He pushes his fingertips against the baby soft hair on the nape of Cable’s neck instead, his lips parting in a silent huff at the pleased rumble that earns him. A hail of bullets could arc overhead right now and it’d take too long for Frank to come online, ‘cause right now he's got space for nothing else in his mind except for staring down at Cable, memorising the way his lips wrap perfect ‘round Frank's dick.

He shivers at the fizzing pressure at the back of his brain as Cable slides into his head; half from the tickle at the top of his spine, half anticipatory conditioning. Cable getting into his head usually means he's gonna feel good. Cable getting into his head usually means he's gonna get his brain split like an overripe orange because Cable _loves_ fucking with him, _loves_ unpicking his seams from the inside out and leaving him a mess.

He hates it as much as he hates how much he's starting to love it.

Cable swallows around him, a rippling tight pressure, and all Frank can think about is clutching Cable’s head and ramming himself home until he shoots thick salty ropes of cum down that thirsty throat, Cable’s comfort be damned.

 _Yeah_ , says Cable in his head, the word lighting up in his head all ragged ‘round the edges. _Fuck Frank, please, do it. Do it._

 _Shut up_ , thinks Frank desperately. He's gone from being mildly interested to already on the edge, and Cable’s excited pleading is fraying his self control. “Don't wanna hurt you,” he says. He claws his hands into Cable’s deceptively soft hair, pulling harder and harder until he chokes around his cock and a huge blast of static sears into Frank’s brain.

“Do it,” says Cable, lifting his head to cough into his shoulder. His voice is already hoarse. The sound makes Frank’s dick twitch and his ego burn hot for a brief second. That's because of him, that's his handiwork. That's his cock that's scraped Cable’s throat raw, he's the one that's got this huge, powerful man on his knees desperate to get his throat rammed. “Please.” That awful metal hand pushes his dick flat against his belly as he mouths at Frank’s balls, sloppy and loud, spit smearing down his chin as he gets his breath back. _You can't hurt me, Frank. You know I won't let you._

 _Fine,_ thinks Frank. Like this is all a big favour to Cable, like he's going to put out by doing such a menial chore. _Fine, you big dirty slut._

The burst of static explodes in Frank’s brain again, so loud he almost whites out.

Cable is normally so careful and controlled when intruding into Frank’s head, even when he's drunk or exhausted or flying high on the black market Penthrox Frank keeps stocked to excess. He doesn't understand the science behind telepathy, doesn't really care to begin with, but he can get the basics of it. Privacy. A one way gate. Cable partitions himself, prefers to get into other people's heads than let them into his.

Now though, there's no restraint, no considerate filtering. Cable’s thoughts, his feelings, his sensations are mirrored back to Frank, bouncing back and forth over their connection until the fidelity fades. Frank can feel himself, and it takes him a while to reconcile feeling something twice, internal and external. He can feel the immovable weight of himself wedged hard down Cable’s throat. He can feel Cable palming at himself through his tac pants, petting the ugly line where metal meets flesh down the sensitive inside of his thigh. Cable aggravates the raw nerves along the zippered seam until he's got a discordant noise of pleasure and pain roiling through his system as he services Frank, echoed down his own nerves until Frank's thigh is twitching with phantom pain, his gut knotting up with Cable’s unadulterated, unmoderated pleasure.

“God,” says Frank in wonder, sounding like a damn fool to his own ears. “You really like this, don't you? This is what gets your dick hard, Summers?”

Cable groans around him, looks up at him with his face flushed and his eye burning bright. Cable’s gratification settles into his brain as if it were his own, a mess of delight and indulgence and a tiny frisson of embarrassment underneath it all.

Clear as a bell he realises that this must be what it's like for Cable to hear Frank himself, always broadcasting, always on. He’s always told Frank he's so loud, incapable of filtering himself.

Jesus. It's a hell of a realisation. No wonder Cable likes fucking him. He gets all of Frank, uncensored and roaring loud, filling him up physically and mentally and unhindered by embarrassment or modesty or care. This is barely a trickle compared to the torrent Cable takes from him all the time, but he gets it now.

He makes himself take a deep calming breath, and another one, and another one. He's never gonna be able to get his heart rate down, not until he forces himself out of that searing hot mouth, but he can call on his iron will and haul back a shred of his self control from Cable’s all-encompassing broadcast of pleasure.

There's a tear in the corner of Cable's mouth, a tiny starburst of pain reflected back at him every time he rocks in deep. Frank pokes the corner of his mouth with his tongue, soothing a sharp rip that isn't there.

He weaves his fingers into Cable’s hair and scratches his nails against his scalp. “Push me if you gotta.” One last out. Never let anyone say he wasn't a gentleman, right?

He rocks his hips, gentle thrusts at first, getting a feel for it. One of Cable’s hands - the metal one, of course - shoves up under his shirt, teases at the hair on his belly before sliding around to his back, spread out over his kidney. Those unyielding hard fingers go from gently rubbing at him to pulling him forward, an unmistakable demand for more, faster, harder, deeper.

He hunches over, the shitty plastic chair creaking in protest as he chokes Cable on his dick, using him as a warm wet hole to fuck. He's got him in a death grip, one hand on the back of his head, controlling him, controlling how deep he takes him, how fast. He groans, smashing Cable’s nose into his belly as he humps forward in tight little jerky rabbit thrusts, chasing his orgasm.

“Summers, gonna cum down that throat. You want it?”

He's shoved so deep down Cable's throat that he can't even grunt his agreement but the demand flares up in his head, _do it do it give it to me Frank oath Frank do it doitdoitdoit_ and that's it, he's gone.

It's alien. It's fucking _bizarre._

He can feel himself orgasm, can feel his cock flex as he comes, can feel the hot pump of semen down Cable’s throat, like he's coming down his _own_ throat. It's obscene. He's never felt anything like it. He's never gonna feel something so alien for the first time ever again.

Cable’s throat convulses round him, draining him dry in deep swallows until his throat spasms, spluttering and gagging. He pulls himself off Frank and leans heavily against his knee, coughing until Frank awkwardly pats him on the shoulder.

Is it too intimate to touch a man on his tac straps after he's just choked himself into a coughing fit on your cum? Being out of his depth in social situations isn't exactly new to Frank but, somehow, he guesses that this isn't exactly a Dear Abby kinda scenario.

“I'm good,” says Cable after a minute, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. His voice sounds like he's been shouting, scraped rough ‘round the edges. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little, hiding a smile as he looks Frank up and down, from his boots to his face and back to his dick, going soft over his shorts and staining the waistband dark with spit. “You good?”

“Yeah,” says Frank after a bit, shaking his head to get his thoughts back into some kind of order. Cable has a habit of leaving him blowjob-dumb, even after the quickest of sucks. An orgasm that intense practically doubles his loading time. He suspects Cable gets off on it, just a little. “Shit, yeah. C’mon, I got mine.”

He doesn't need any more of an invitation than that. Cable pops his belt and shoves his waistband down, pushing aside his jock to get a fist around his pretty dick, flushed deep pink and the tip smeared shiny with smeared precum. His foreskin rolls back as he spits on himself and jerks off in sharp short strokes.

Even in the dark his cock is good looking. So damn perfect. He'd give about anything to be somewhere safer, more secure, so he could get on his knees and repay the favour. Really take his time and give that pretty cock all his attention. Cable deserves it. Frank wants it.

He says so before he can zip his idiot mouth.

Jesus. Amateur hour bullshit at best, blurting stuff out like that. Frank leans forward to say… something, _anything._ Cable crashes into him, kissing him frantically as he licks into his mouth with zero finesse and all enthusiasm. “Any time,” he says, so close that his 5 o'clock shadow scrapes Frank's lips. “You call me. Any time.”

He can barely taste himself in Cable’s mouth. That's the thing that’s gonna really get under his skin and drive him wild, take him through some shitty nights ahead. Cable took him so deep that he didn't miss a drop Frank gave him, and the feral wild dog that lives in Frank’s head is howling in delight at the thought.

If he was fifteen years younger that would easily be enough for round two; every selfish bit of him panting in a dirty, desperate, egotistical need to make sure Cable couldn't miss the taste of Frank on his tongue, spilling down his throat, taking him as deep inside him as he could possibly be.

Cable makes a choked up noise into Frank’s mouth. He rears back onto his heels, staring intensely at Frank, his eye glowing burning bright as his big warm hand pushes on Frank's thigh, grabbing at him and feeling him up. When he comes it's with a soft grunt, shooting thick pulses of cum onto the dusty concrete between Frank's boots.

The pleasurable incoherent static in his head abruptly cuts off. The flat dead silence makes him reach a hand to his ear before he realises what's he's doing and stops, hand hanging uselessly in midair.

“Jesus,” says Frank, slouching back on his shitty plastic chair. He feels like he's run a marathon. “Is this a standard job perk with you?”

Cable lets out that low half-formed chuckle that always makes Frank’s guts do a stupid lil’ twist whenever he gets to hear it. “What answer do you want to hear, Captain?”

He hopes to god it's too dark for Cable to see the touch of heat he feels crawling over his face because there's an answer that's truthful and an answer that's easy and he doesn't want to say either of ‘em.

“You're gonna have to torch the place,” he says, avoiding the subject entirely as he tucks his dick into his shorts and zips his fly with shaky hands. “Leaving this much DNA around is a bad idea.”

Cable gives him a look. The silence holds a fraction too long, stretched out until it feels taut as wire, ready to snap. Cable shakes his head and gets to his feet, one big hand braced on Frank’s knee for balance as he pushes himself up.

“Do your belt up, Frank,” he says, rubbing at the split in his lip with the tip of his thumb. He busies himself setting his chest straps to rights, making a vague gesture at his gun and taking a half-step forward as it lifts away from the wall and slams onto his back.

Frank stares at the pale cement dust staining Cable’s knees, and the pale cement dust staining his rifle bag, and closes his eyes briefly. “Yeah,” says Frank after a moment. “Yeah, Cable."  



End file.
